


Tired of waiting (For permission to love)

by targaryen_melodrama



Series: Only human (You and me could make it rain) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Road trip adjascent, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryen_melodrama/pseuds/targaryen_melodrama
Summary: “Before you realized what?”“Nothing,” Sam says with a sigh.Instead of calling him out for lying again, Bucky decides to take the risk and let Wilson know that he knows.“Before you realized you were in love with Steve?”





	Tired of waiting (For permission to love)

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to the first fic of this series. They can both stand on their own, though.

The day Bucky finally gets it is a turning point.

He’d asked Steve about Wilson repeatedly without ever getting a satisfying answer. _He’s just that great of a guy_ and _we just connected really fast_ are _not_ good answers to “why would a guy give up a fairly peaceful life just to live as an outlaw and keep you from plummeting to your death on the daily.”

But today, Steve took a particularly bad hit, and Wilson had looked so gutted that Bucky broke his _only speak to Wilson when spoken to_ rule to try to offer what could’ve been called comfort if it had been given by someone who hadn’t been brainwashed out of emoting.

“He’ll, uh...he’ll be fine.”

“What?” Wilson finally stops pacing to look at Bucky.

“Steve. Saw him take worse in ‘43 and get right back up.”

“That’s a relief. I guess.”

Wilson looks anything but relieved. Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“It’s just...if anything happened to him, I—”

Bucky starts nodding like he understands—which he kind of does, depending on the day—when it hits him.

Oh. _Oh_. Of fucking course.

The patience. The worry. The sacrifices. It all made sense now.

 _You’re here ‘cause you’re in love with him_.

Bucky doesn’t have much else to say and Sam leaves soon after, probably after realizing that this is the extent of Bucky’s bedside manners.

He takes one last look at Steve, who’s completely knocked out but still breathing, and decides to turn in for a few hours.

He doesn’t know it just yet, but this is the day Bucky stops hating Sam Wilson.

*

It’s easier for Bucky to look at Wilson after that. It’s also easier for Bucky to analyze and actually understand him. Before, Bucky could foresee Wilson’s plans and strategies. Now, it’s his smiles and sighs that become easier to predict: it’s almost a game to Bucky at this point, and he gets an odd sense of satisfaction from figuring out when Wilson’ll grin or smirk or when he’ll complain, and why.

It’s also much easier to check out of Wilson and Steve’s arguments. They’re predictable, the two of them, and Bucky doesn’t care much for what they do next, long as it involves not getting caught by Hydra or the American government.

“We won’t die if we take a break, but we _will_ die if we go on like this and lose our focus because we’re tired.”

Wilson’s pacing again—he always does when he’s nervous, scared or unsure about something—and Steve is sitting on his bed, head between his hands.

“You’re not wrong, Sam, it’s just that we have limited time and—“

“But we do have _some_ time. Listen, I’m tired, okay? So it’s your call. Whatever you want, just say so and I’ll head to bed now.”

This has been going on for fifteen minutes, thirty five and a half seconds. Bucky could’ve told them they’d be here within the first six minutes of this argument.

Steve sighs and pinches his forehead. He’s great at making decisions, but not always great at dealing with the consequences of those decisions. Especially not with the people he loves.

“We keep going.”

Wilson, to his credit, doesn’t show an inch of anger or annoyance. His poker face is almost as good as Bucky’s. Almost.

He nods as them both, then heads to the door. “Good night, Cap. Barnes.”

The second Wilson is out the door, Steve lets himself fall back on his bed with a groan.

“I hate this.”

“Wilson?”

“What? No. Bucky—”

“That was a joke,” Bucky says in his most deadpan voice. It always makes Steve freak out even more.

Steve smiles, paper thin, and goes right back to frowning. “It’s just...I know I can be difficult, sometimes.” _Understatement of the past two centuries_. “It’s just that it’d be easier if he yelled at me. If he let it all out, instead of holding it in like he does.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

Steve smiles again, more genuine this time. “Touché. I’m just...I’m worried about him.”

“Why?”

“Lately, he’s been...more quiet than usual. Not as argumentative, not pushing my buttons for fun, like he used to. I hope I didn’t fuck things up between us.”

The thing is, Steve’s not wrong. It used to annoy the shit out of him, but Wilson has always been ready to throw a joke or a smile Steve’s way. He’d been more distant lately, not that Bucky blames him.

But since he can’t really say _he’s not himself because he loves you_ , Bucky settles on a noncommittal _hmm_ and hopes the situation resolves itself sooner than later. Bucky would rather take down ten Hydra labs in a row than to waste precious brain space thinking about Sam Wilson’s relationship problems.

*

Bucky’s not worried about Wilson. He’s _not_. Worry is for friends and family, and they’re neither, no matter how hard Steve tries to make it so.

It’s not Bucky’s fault that he notices Wilson withdrawing even more after the last fight—if there’s anything Bucky can do, it’s notice things. Bucky would’ve stuck to simply noticing if it wasn’t for Wilson choosing to spend his evenings outside alone instead of hanging out with Steve or even alone inside his room.

About a week after Wilson and Steve’s fight, Bucky sees Wilson sitting on the hood of their latest car, alone ( _again_ ) and something just...tugs at him.

He makes his footsteps loud and deliberate on the gravel, and when Wilson looks up, he waves a little ridiculously. Bucky, as always, blows straight through comforting and empathetic to land firmly on awkward. It doesn’t seem to bother Wilson much, though.

“Barnes,” Wilson says, clearing his throat, “what are you doing here?”

“Came to see you. You don’t seem okay.”

Wilson smiles, not as wide as he usually does, but just as warm. Bucky’s never had one of those genuine smiles aimed at him—he’s never been as lucky as Steve—and it warms him in places he hadn’t realized were cold.

“That’s real nice of you. But I’ll be fine, you don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I don’t have to. But I’m here. If you want to…”

“If I want to?”

“Talk about it.”

The smile slips off Wilson’s face and Bucky wishes he hadn’t interrupted at all.

“Was is there to talk about?”

Bucky moves closer and stands in front of the car, right next to where Wilson is sitting.

“You’ve never lied to me before,” Bucky says, and means it. It’s one of the things he appreciates about Wilson. “You shouldn’t start now. ‘Specially since you’re pretty bad at it.”

Wilson smiles again, which makes Bucky much happier than it should, since it’s not one of the smiles he can usually predict. He seems to ponder for a while, his smile turning into a frown, before he speaks.

“It was easier, before.”

“What was easier?”

“Following Steve. When I started with him, we knew the good guys were the bad guys, and we had a clear plan. Take them all down.”

“Now?” Bucky asks, leaning his hip against the car. His arms are crossed over his chest, mirroring Wilson. The night’s cooler than either of them had anticipated.

“Now, we’re just...running. With no clear purpose, with no real plan. I wish I could tell him, but we’d just fight about it, and I don’t think he’d change his mind. It was easier to get into an argument with him, before I realized I was in—”

“Before you realized?”

“Nothing,” Sam says with a sigh.

Instead of calling him out for lying again, Bucky decides to take the risk and let Wilson know that _he_ knows.

“Before you realized you were in love with him?”

Wilson’s entire body stiffens before he sighs again, long and heavy.

“Nothing escapes the Winter Soldier, huh?”

Bucky feels his own body relax then; he hadn’t realized how nervous he was about potentially upsetting Wilson.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the only one.”

Wilson turns and looks at Bucky, inquisitive and sharp. “You too?”

“Fuck no,” Bucky says with a slight shudder, and Wilson cracks another genuine smile. “But I’ve seen it happen. Nurses, army generals, politicians. Everyone was taken with Stevie, back in the day. All of them after the serum, mind you.”

“Except you.”

Bucky shrugs. “Except me, I guess. Not that it makes much sense. Who the hell would sign up to keep gettin’ him out of all those damn fights?” Bucky lets the sounds of Brooklyn take over his mind for a second. He knows that the memories are easier to handle if he just lets them happen instead of fighting them, and that they’re just that. Memories.

A moment later, after watching himself chasing giggling girls down shoddy stairs, he says “Guess I _was_ one of them, too. Taken with Steve Rogers. Just not like that.”

They stay quiet for a while. It’s the most comfortable silence has ever been between them. Hell, it’s the most comfortable silence Bucky has ever been in, since he woke up. Maybe that’s why he feels okay breaking it.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “of all the people who were taken with him, you’re one of the least shitty.”

“...Thanks?”

“It’s a compliment,” Bucky confirms, nodding.

“Of all the compliments I’ve ever received, this is one of the most shitty.”

Bucky finds himself smiling. “See if I ever compliment you again, Wilson.”

Wilson shrugs, but Bucky sees a small smile at the corner of his lips. This one, he’d seen coming.

“I’ll live.”

 _Yeah_ , Bucky thinks, _yeah you will_. _With or without him, Sam, you‘ll live_.

***

Their truce is unspoken, but permanent. It’s easier to initiate conversation with Sam, then, easier to let himself approach him, because Sam is steady and strong, but also human and flawed, and it feels like instead of letting down the only two people who care about his well being, Bucky’s only letting down one.

Bucky’s not the only one initiating conversations, and when he and Sam talk, they drift further and further from Hydra and their next move, and closer to they type of small talk and get-to-know-each other conversations he’d only seen on reruns of _The Bachelor_ and those “Starting conversations when you’re awkward” articles and posts he’d read an embarrassing amount of times.

“Which five people, dead or alive—”

“Beyoncé, Jesus, Isaiah Bradley, Toussaint L’Ouverture and, ah...Sandra Oh.”

Bucky sighs. “It ain’t fun when you pick this fast and this good.”

They’re at a gas station, waiting in the car while Steve, who’s supposed to be picking out snacks for them, is chatting with the cashier.

“Pick better questions and then maybe you’ll catch me off guard. Who are yours?”

“My what?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “The five people you’d have over for dinner.”

“Hmm...give me a minute,” Bucky says. “Okay...Einstein, ah, Mary Shelley—oh, ah, Tolkien too. Mary Jackson—”

“Nerd.”

“—and," Bucky adds without thinking, "Peggy.”

Sam’s eyes immediately lose their humour and Bucky immediately regrets saying it aloud.

“Barnes.”

“It’s fine, Wilson, don’t make a big deal out of this.”

“Bucky.”

“I swear that it’s fine, it’s just...I never got to see her again. By the time I was okay, she...wasn’t. I just...I wish I’d gotten a second chance with her too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“Still am. Bucky,” Sam calls, and Bucky has no choice but look up and meet Sam’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m sorry you didn’t get a second chance with her. You deserve it.”

Bucky looks down at his mismatched hands, a reminder that what Sam said isn’t exactly true. There isn’t much Bucky actually deserves.

“Anyways, don’t think I’m done with you and those nerdy ass choices, Barnes.”

Bucky looks up again, startled into a smile, and sees Sam smiling back.

As Steve finally leaves and starts jogging back to the car, Bucky wonders when seeing Sam smile started meaning that Bucky would automatically be smiling back.

*

For all Bucky’s bragging about being able to predict what Sam’ll do next, it comes as a shock when he actually confesses his feelings to Steve.

Not that Bucky should be shocked: being honest and brave is Sam's M.O.

Bucky had left their motel room when Sam came in. Something about the look on his face told Bucky this was particularly serious, and when he’d heard Sam say _there’s something I need to tell you_ as he was going down the stairs, well, it became quite obvious what was going on.

What’s less obvious is why the whole thing is making Bucky so nervous. _He’s_ not the one risking rejection, and he’s not the one who might have to let his best friend down easy. It’s just that, well…things would change whether or not Steve and Sam got together, and Bucky likes the way things are right now.

That’s all.

Bucky hears the door close and watches Sam come down the stairs, his face drawn and his shoulders hunched.

 _Fuck_. This can’t have gone well for him.

When Sam makes it to what Bucky now thinks of as their spot, in front of whatever car they happen to be driving, he dangles the car keys lightly.

“Gonna be gone for a bit. Sorry, I know you like this car.”

“Gone?” It couldn’t have been that bad, could it?

Sam swallows, then takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Just for a little bit, then I’ll be back. You won’t even have the time to miss me,” he says, with a smile that’s a poor reflection of his usual one. He hasn’t even looked Bucky in the eye yet.

“Sam. You don’t have to—you know we...You don’t have to go.”

Sam looks up, and attempts to smile again. It just makes Bucky’s heart break a little more.

“I know. Don’t worry, it’ll just be a few days. And you’ll get alone time with Steve, I know you haven’t had that in a while.”

Bucky almost wants to roll his eyes. Typical Sam. Here he is, genuinely worried about Bucky’s friendship with the guy who just rejected him. Is it any wonder Bucky wants him to stay?

“Bye, Buck. I’ll see you soon,” he says, briefly placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder before getting inside the car.

Bucky stays outside until night turns to dawn, eyes glued to the direction Sam left in, unwilling to go up to the room he shares with Steve, and unable to understand why.

*

It’s hard to look at Sam when he comes back. Bucky knows he felt...something when Sam left, even if it was just temporary, but he doesn’t know why. And it doesn’t help that as hard as it is to look at Sam, he always finds himself staring at him, whether it’s in the morning, when one of them is making breakfast, or in the evening, after they’ve settled their plans for the next day.

It’s just...there’s always something different to look at. His laugh. The gap in his teeth. The way his eyes focus on whatever task or mission he’s got his mind set on.

Which is exactly the look in Sam’s eyes right now as he walks towards Bucky, purposeful and determined.

 _Goddamn it_. Bucky doesn’t even attempt to leave; it’d been really foolish of him to hang out at their usual spot when he wanted to avoid Sam.

“Hey, Buck. Is something bothering you?”

Bucky clears his throat. “Nope. You’re—it’s all good. Why d’you ask?”

Sam doesn’t answer right away, but stares at Bucky like he’s trying to determine whether he’s telling the truth. He finally shrugs, and Bucky tries not to look too relieved.

“Since I came back, you don’t...I feel like we don’t talk as much. I’m trying to turn my counselor brain off and just ask you if something’s wrong instead of guessing, but I hope I…”

“Yeah?”

“I hope I didn’t fuck up anything between us when I left.”

Bucky wants to laugh. If anyone’s fucking their friendship up, it’s him.

“You’re good, Sam. Promise. ‘M glad you’re back.”

“Missed me?” Sam asks, bumping their shoulders together.

 _Yeah. Missed you a lot_.

“Not more than you missed me. You spend a week without me and now you think we’re not friends anymore. What’s up with that?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t have checked on you. Gives you too many opportunities to be an asshole to me.”

“Congratulations, you played yourself.”

“DJ Khaled memes? What is this, 2016?”

Bucky laughs, and settles for a weak, “Shut up, Wilson,” since he doesn’t have a comeback to that.

“Nah, I’m not shutting up. You said you were glad I was back, you’re getting me in all my glory.”

Something about that both excites and terrifies Bucky at the same damn time. He just wishes he could figure out _why_.

*

A week later, Sam and Steve are completely back to normal, which makes Bucky’s odd behavior stand out. Bucky doesn’t know what to do anymore. It’s not like he can go away or isolate himself when they’re on the run, and it’s not like he can talk about it with either of them, either.

By some amazing stroke of luck, the next few weeks are quite busy for them. At first it feels like a really good thing for Bucky: it means that no one questions why he keeps to himself more than usual. But the more the weeks go by, the more reports they get from the remnants from Shield about something big being on the horizon and the less he gets to hang out with Sam, the worst he feels.

Until Sam decides to go and get himself injured.

The way Shield had described it, it wasn’t a simple mission, but it wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous one either. They should’ve made it out with minimal damage, if any.

But there’d been an ambush, Shield had completely underestimated the number of Hydra agents that would be waiting for them, and now, Bucky was left taking care of an injured Sam while Steve was off reporting to Shield.

“Damn it, Sam,” Bucky says for the third time, “do you not know what _hold your position_ means?” It’s seven of decades of training that keeps Bucky’s hands from shaking like they want to. The lighting of the bedroom is shitty enough as it is—just like the rest of the safe house—and Bucky needs all the help he can get to tend to Sam’s injury.

“Steve was about to get—”

“Steve can take care of himself. Why can’t you—” Bucky cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. If he wants to stitch Sam up so that he can actually heal, he needs to calm down so his hands can stay steady.

“Why can’t I what?” Sam asks. He lifts himself up and tries to take a look at his stitches and Bucky softly pushes him back down on the rather uncomfortable bed.

“Stay still.”

“Why can’t I what?”

“Why can’t you put your safety first? Why do you always swoop in for others when it’s not safe for you? Why can’t you put _yourself_ first, for once? Why—never mind.” Bucky cuts himself off again, though he thinks it’s too late this time. It feels like he’s said too much.

It only takes another minute to finish patching Sam up, but once he’s done, he doesn’t get up from the crouching position he’s been in for the past fifteen minutes. His hands hover over Sam’s lower stomach and he can’t make himself stand up.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky looks up when he hears Sam apologizes. If he hadn’t known Sam was being genuine from his voice, he would’ve seen it in his eyes.

Bucky sighs. “Don’t—don’t apologize. I overreacted. It’s just…”

“It’s just?”

“If something happened to you, I—”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, it’s like time stops for a moment then starts again, but the seconds are stretched out into minutes, and the minutes into hours.

The words, the circumstances—everything feels way too familiar. Like déjà vu, but worse.

Sam’s eyes are glued to his and it feels like in this moment he can read every single thing Bucky feels about him—things Bucky hadn’t known he felt until just now.

“Bucky?”

Bucky’s legs move of their own will. He’s halfway to the door when he realizes he should probably say something.

“I’m...I’m gonna turn in. Yell if you need something.”

“Bucky.”

“Night, Wilson.”

The second he’s out of the room, all the evidence comes rushing to Bucky’s head.

Looking for Sam’s every smile. The ridiculous conversations. Being upset over Sam leaving.

It all makes sense, now.

_You were upset ‘cause you’re in love with him._

And isn’t that on par for the course of Bucky’s too-long life? After physical and psychological torment, he just _had_ to fallen in love with the guy who was in love with his best friend.

*

Their trip back to their next semi-permanent safe house is quiet, and so is the week after Sam gets injured. Steve is still debriefing with Shield wherever the fuck they’re at these days, which means it’s just him and Sam, 24 hours a day.

It’s not that hard to avoid Sam. Bucky makes sure breakfast, lunch and dinner are ready when Sam needs to eat, he showers when Sam’s asleep, spends his time inside when Sam’s out, and out when Sam’s in.

It’s not hard, but it fucking sucks.

Bucky’s outside right now, enjoying the little bit of time he has. Sam laid down for his afternoon nap earlier, and he usually comes out in the evening, right after the sun has set.

He’s laying down on the hood of their car, trying to enjoy how the sun feels on his face, when he hears footsteps.

“Buck?”

 _Shit_.

Bucky is up in half a second, but once he is, he’s not sure whether to move or stay right where he is.

“D’you need something?”

Sam sighs. “No, I don’t _need_ anything.” He walks up to Bucky, moves to his right and sits on the hood of the car, like it’s any other afternoon. “My stitches have been out for a few days now,” he says softly. “I appreciate the food and everything, but...you don’t have to.”

 _I want to,_ Bucky doesn’t say. _I like taking care of you._

“Sorry,” is what he says instead. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Sam sighs again. Bucky thinks it’s the end of the conversation, and that they’ll just have to get through a few weeks of awkward interactions before they can get back to normal, but it looks like Sam has other ideas.

“I don’t want you to.” Sam’s voice barely carries over the light breeze.

“What?”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Bucky sits back down before he can even think of what he’s doing. He can’t be hearing Sam right.

“You don’t want me to stop what?”

“Taking care of me.” Sam licks his lips, his eyes not leaving the ground. “I like it. ‘S nice. I—I like you.”

“Like...like a friend.”

This has to be what Sam means. There isn’t any other way. It’s the kind of guy he is anyways. In touch with his feelings and communicative. This is the kind of thing Sam Wilson tells his friends, right?

Sam shakes his head. “Like more. More than a friend.”

“I don’t...I don’t understand.”

Steve’s name is on the tip of Bucky’s tongue, but it feels like if he says it, they’ll both be snatched back to reality.

“I…still have feelings for him. Don’t know how to make them stop—I would if I could, trust me.” Sam swallows hard, then raises his head to look at Bucky. “But I like you, too. Actually,” he says with a small smile, “no buts. I like you, Bucky. I just...do. With all my heart.”

It doesn’t make sense. It can’t make sense. Sam loves Steve. He gave up his life for Steve. He worries about Steve and throws himself into danger for Steve.

“How?” Bucky gasps. _How is that possible_ is what he means, but he can’t make himself ask the full question _._

Sam smiles at Bucky like he heard all of it. “The same way you like me.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say that Sam’s wrong, to say _something,_ but nothing comes out.

It had all happened unconsciously is the thing. Sam had snuck into his heart, landing slowly and steadily, camouflaged by his love for Steve. Though it dawned on Bucky in an instant, it had been building slowly. Over weeks of driving, hundreds of silly questions and hours of sitting together quietly in the night, their walls not tumbling down so much as opening up, just enough for light to pour in, dim but unmistakable.

When Bucky speaks, his voice is low and rough. “Are you sure?”

His eyes are on the horizon where the sun is setting. He can’t quite look at Sam right now.

After a moment, Bucky feels Sam’s hand hover over his, before he links their pinky fingers together. Bucky turns to Sam and finds him smiling. Had he been anything but terrified, he would’ve seen this one coming.

“I’m sure, Buck.”

Sam’s smile widens when Bucky smiles back, and all the times Sam had smiled, laughed or winked back at him come to Bucky’s mind.

“Sam. I like you.”

Sam laughs. “I know. I like you, too.”

Bucky tugs at Sam’s hand and pulls him in. They wrap their arms around each other’s backs, leaning on one another and breathing each other in, sweeter and less complicated than anything else between them.

Sam liking him back is the last thing Bucky could’ve predicted. But unlike all the unpredictable things that had happened to him in his lifetimes, Bucky is going to hold on this this—to Sam—with all he’s got.

 

 **End**.

**Author's Note:**

> we're really getting a sambucky series huh? i'll never be able to stop writing fic huh? cool cool cool
> 
> Title from Under the table by Banks.
> 
> I am on [Tumblr](http://targaryenmelodrama.tumblr.com) if you wanna drop by!


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